4:55a.m.

Posted on December 14, 2025 by PB Rippey

Oh hi!

About to join my last BSU seminar before Winter Break, during which I’ll be completing a portfolio assignment and a critical essay. So: Shhhhhh (directed at the mini-zoo kneading my lap, nudging my ankles, or counter surfing in the kitchen as I prepare to focus on my computer), Mom is busy.

It’s been a rollicking, writing-on-demand, zooming into multiple conferences and seminars experience since last September when I started the MAWYP at BSU. I’m middle-grade-centric as far as genres, but threw myself into assignments that included writing YA, which I’ve always avoided, but understand better now thanks to the following books either studied or recommended during the course:

  1. Love is for Losers, Wibke Brueggemann
  2. Sing if you can’t Dance, Alexia Casale
  3. Blood Moon, Lucy Cuthew
  4. The Black Flamingo, Dean Atta

And you probably already know this, but ‘Synch’ by Ellen Hopkins is out. Do not miss, especially if you’re interested in writing YA novels in verse.

What I’m reading over the holidays when not working on assignments:
In the Shadow of the Wolf Queen, Kiran Millwood Hargrave
Cuckoo Song, Frances Hardinge (start reading and you’ll hate when you have to stop)

Yours in hoping for a Christmas that will produce enough rain so we won’t have to evacuate our home in January 2026 due to forest fires and Santa Ana winds, as we did last January 2025,

PB

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On being a Grad Student

Posted on November 17, 2025 by PB Rippey
Bear

My grad student life is consuming, especially as I get up very early for some sessions–and sometimes I don’t go to bed at all but power through to the wee morning hours with a midnight coffee and I’m loving it. But my brain is so busy. So here is my puppy, 9 mos old now, during a very rainy last few days.

Yours in meeting deadlines and writing critical essays when you haven’t written critical essays in forever,

yours in enjoying every second of grad student life, especially the writing (sometimes on demand),

also yours in sloshing through mudfields in Hokas because of donating rain boots to charity after the fires earlier this year,

and yours in my bit of tinderbox-California finally, thoroughly getting drenched with rain,

PB

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No Kings

Posted on October 19, 2025 by PB Rippey

I made a sign and hiked to Good Trouble Corner on NO KINGS day in the USA and posted about my protesting on: Threads: @pbrippey1 Instagram: @pbrippey1 Bluesky: @pbrippey1

I cannot believe what is happening in my country. But it’s happening.

A tyrant has cheated his way in. He’s trying to ruin us.

We’re working together to handle it.

We’re working together to handle it.

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Yeovil Literary Prize Longlist

Posted on August 22, 2025 by PB Rippey

UPDATE: I did not make the shortlist. Again, so grateful for MONSTER recognition!

I’m allowed to announce now that my historical fiction middle-grade novel, THE MONSTER AT ELIZABETH LAKE, longlisted for the 2025 Yeovil Literary Prize. I’ll know in September if I made the shortlist. Yeovil is a UK literary arts association I completely admire. I’m so grateful for MONSTER recognition.

Both TROUBLE BENEATH THE WAVES and MONSTER have done well in middle-grade competitions for the past 2 years, especially in the UK, and since I’m starting the writing for young people graduate program in September at Bath Spa University, I’m all-in with the UK.

Except I won’t actually BE in the UK, but home in fire country, connecting around 4a.m. with my professor(s) and cohorts. Which means appeasing cats at 3:30a.m. with what will come to be known as: 1st breakfast.

Grateful, too, for my Nespresso machine.

THE MONSTER AT ELIZABETH LAKE is based on a true story. Elizabeth Lake is 30 mins from my house.

I love writing.

Yours in good news,

PB

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At Least Dust Them

Posted on August 18, 2025 by PB Rippey

Books on my desk that I squint at regularly as I world-build, revise, calculate financial bits, worry, shed a tear, laugh at something I’ve created (hopefully not unkindly), revise ad nauseum–yet books I never see.

Seeing, replacing a few titles.

Breakout: haven’t riffled through in 6 years. Why is it still here? Did I forget to add something to a worksheet? Probably not as I’ve never been able to write in books for fear of defiling them. TBH, I don’t think I’ve ever used any of Breakout’s strategies. Have you? It’s going.

CW Word Book–my disregard is the same as not looking at my grocery list when in the grocery store, convinced I’ll remember each item–but then I forget the item topping every list: Vegenaise. Who forgets the Vegenaise??? See what I mean? Word book stays.

Lynne Truss stays forever. That I know.

Marine Biology for the Non-Biologist has a different sort of importance for rifflings and is as important as Truss, or–breathing.

The thesaurus needs no justifying (despite using thesaurus.com, more than the hard copy).

Before I forgot ‘WOW’ was on my desk, I would open to a random page and experience this: wow. It stays.

‘Save the Cat! Writes a Novel’ and Lisa Cron’s ‘Plot Whisperer’ are flying in as new recruits.

10p.m. Turning off my string of disco lights and shutting down the computer.

Yours in memorable dreams,

PB.

PS. string lights gifted to me by husband and teen. Does this mean they believe I do have a sense of whimsy? Best not to ponder. Good night!

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O California! (mini-summer-break edition)

Posted on August 11, 2025 by PB Rippey

I live in a state people visit from around the world. California is vast and geologically diverse end to end: deserts, mountains, marshes, volcanoes, ocean–we have it all. Many of our family vacations are CA vacations–there’s just SO MUCH to see.

Santa Cruz is no exception. And Santa Cruz has a dog beach. Our puppy, on his longlead, for safety, was stunned by all the gamboling of leash-free dogs.

We stayed in Santa Cruz with good friends, glamping in their airstream parked in their driveway. I would like an airstream now, please. I believe it might be the ultimate She-Shed.

Santa Cruz is not only a beach city, but infused with trees, enough forestry to house Big Foot. That’s right. BF. The forested landscape here, prevalent ocean, beaches always ignite my imagination whenever we visit.

Yours in vital mini-getaways, even if your teen doesn’t want to go,

PB

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More Good (Shh) News

Posted on July 9, 2025 by PB Rippey
Bear: 2nd beach experience 5mos old

August 1st I’ll be able to post good news about my historical fiction novel.

In the meantime, I continue to revise my work and: sequester pets in the guestroom as workers repair water damage from a leak spanning 2 floors.

Grateful the beach isn’t far, the 50 minute drive through the Heritage Valley always inspiring. Hence my historical fiction novel…

Yours in always appreciating good news,

PB

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Donations for Texas Flooding

Posted on July 7, 2025 by PB Rippey

Do your own research. This is mine, for now:

MERCY CHEFS
https://www.cbsnews.com/texas/news/where-to-donate-help-central-texas-flood-recovery/

KERR COUNTY FLOOD RELIEF FUND
https://cftexashillcountry.fcsuite.com/erp/donate/create/fund?funit_id=4201

SALVATION ARMY KERRVILLE
https://www.zeffy.com/en-US/donation-form/donate-to-change-lives-1586

RED CROSS (hope I’m right)
https://www.redcross.org/donate/disaster-relief.html/?srsltid=AfmBOooHyXBosa9d9XKEsL2VBfzrIYQm23_ICrIQP4mmZTioDcFmDCCD

Children died needlessly.

You know that, right?

So donate.

PB

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Puppy Summer

Posted on June 19, 2025 by PB Rippey
Bear takes a break

My house still has a hole in the dining room ceiling, the upstairs bathroom has no walls, puppy only mostly uses his potty pads, cats are freaked by puppy and WILL PEE on his leash if it’s left lying around, teen has a 1st girlfriend, I luff her, but teen is agitated if I interrupt his texting with/1st gf with a summons for family dinner (why can’t I just eat in my room, Mom, I’m texting with my GIRLFRIEND), I’m experiencing a hump mid-new-novel and it’s REALLY bugging me–but when I’m galumphing around the soccer field with Bear I am thrilled to be outdoors with a new little life and pretty sure I’m living as mindfully as I can–despite or because of holes in the house, precious moody teen, fresh crowsfeet, not-very-potty-trained-puppy, annoyed cats and writing challenges.

You, too?

Yours in purchasing high-value puppy treats,

PB

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Threads

Posted on June 18, 2025 by PB Rippey

Threads post is currently 5,000+ likes. 229 supportive comments. 614 reposts.

Please go to voteinorout and watch the video if you haven’t seen it already. Or use a search engine. 🙂

Yours in continuing to speak up in America at this excruciating time,

PB.
Threads: @pbrippey1
Instagram: @pbrippey1
Bluesky: @pbrippey1

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Baby in the Laundry Basket

Posted on June 5, 2025 by PB Rippey
BEAR

Ever woken up with a pounding heart because your dream was, once again, that you put a baby to bed in a laundry basket instead of a crib and suddenly you couldn’t find the baby when you went to the crib because you forgot the baby was in the laundry basket and, awake, heart pounding, your only thought was: I’m going to revise the bleep out of my novel.

Yours in remembering to make a cup of coffee before revising the bleep out of anything,

PB.

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Another Mslexia Longlist Placement

Posted on May 20, 2025 by PB Rippey

For my middle grade novel TROUBLE BENEATH THE WAVES, which I entered into the 2025 Mslexia Children’s & YA Novel Competition.

I was informed yesterday that I did NOT make the shortlist: 😦 However, I’m thrilled TROUBLE made the longlist. Once I’m done with my tiny pity party, I’ll enter the 2026 competition.

From Mslexia:

“We know from our previous research with 4,000 would-be novelists, that only 24 per cent who embark on a novel persist through to a complete manuscript. One fifth get no further than some notes and an outline; another fifth give up after fewer than 10,000 words.”

With 3 complete novels in revision (2 of them consistently placing in SCBWI contests and, now, Mslexia) and 2 more 1/2 written, I’m definitely NOT in that 24+% category. Nice to know.

And here is a puppy (see previous post): Bear.

Yours in simply carrying on writing and revising,

PB

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M’s DAY 2025

Posted on May 14, 2025 by PB Rippey
Bear, Mothers Day 2025

My husband told a joke at the dinner table and I spit out my salad from laughing and looked up trying to swallow and there was an amber stripe on the ceiling from a leak in the teen’s bathroom upstairs (teens shower often, as you might know, and, because Teens, may not offer information, such as, water-spray-puddling-on-bathroom-floor for weeks) and plumbers arrived the day after we rescued a puppy and our house became the part in the movie “E.T.” when the government takes over with plastic sheeting and scary equipment and the cats are sequestered to the guest room and I am sequestered in a main bedroom with the puppy, my desk and electronic crucials as 6 fans blow 24hrs upstairs and down and it’s like living inside a DC6 and I keep thinking I’m going to write and I do but I’m also teaching the puppy how to sit and confirming vet appointments and puppy pre-school appointments and browsing CHEWY and adding to the puppy’s file titled: BEAR and I’m making breakfasts and lunches and dinners and strategic visits to the grocery store when puppy is passed out from over-loading on newness and I’m working hard on not stressing on ANY of it–this home’s bones on display; pink wall-stuffings blowing around the house like tumbleweeds; how much the cats hate everything. Yet: polite meltdown with the plumber this morning when he said he’d need to turn the water off for 6 hours. He. Found. Another. Solution.

Yours in Om’s,

PB

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Poetry Month

Posted on April 28, 2025 by PB Rippey

“We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.” — William Butler Yeats

I’ve had lots of quarrels with myself these past few weeks, none of them poetic, but enough so that I forgot April was poetry month…

So here is a little poem (NOT about my husband, but a boyfriend from 20 years ago) as I focus on finishing a novel and tending family like the precious feral-garden they comprise.

Yours in devotion to everything whole in our lives and continuing to create poetry out of quarrels with ourselves,

PB

Broken

Month of broken vacuum
cleaners, 2 & that’s enough,
metal swinging from undersides
like socket-free limbs, cracked,
wretched housing, stinking, smoking
engines tormenting pets–Salvation
Army? he suggests, Mr. Fixit, Friend
to the Machine, Peter Quince making
a miracle of his men, juggling raw
materials, training mechanicals, del-
ving in–nothing he can do–except
tell me (all tools aside, rolling down
sleeves of his work-shirt, done):

You’re so smart, this is why I can’t understand why you…

2 broken. 2.

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Ellen Hopkins (SCBWI Kite Tales Interview Edition)

Posted on April 25, 2025 by PB Rippey

If, like me, you’re a member of SCBWI you’ve probably already read this interview with Ellen Hopkins.

If you’re not a member of SCBWI but are a writer or reader or have a book on your shelf or under your pillow or covering a Kindle screen or if you’re listening to a book, any book: Read this interview.

Ellen Hopkins is one of our best.

Yours in helpful directives,

PB

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April Cruelty (Remembrance of Things Past Edition)

Posted on April 16, 2025 by PB Rippey

Early twenties, fresh out of a British graduate school for acting, back home working as a hostess for a local resort restaurant (but of course), gathering my finances-what-finances as I prepared for a move down the coast to Hollywood—I met 2 novelists. They were elderly-ish friends of my mom’s. I knew they were coming to the restaurant and I was excited to meet them, my writing as important to me as my acting. This couple had two published novels between them, making them, for me, rock stars.

I seated them at the best table in the house, handed them menus and introduced myself: “I’m Sandy’s daughter!”

Never give up, great things take time

“Oh!” they said, delighted, and asked about my mom and then I asked: “Do you have any advice for me?” They looked at me blankly because my mom had not told them I was a writer (my mom, my mom, my mom). “Poet and fiction writer,” I said, eager to make a first professional writing-connection and I told them about my one publication–a poem in a super-slim journal called something like, UP AGAINST THE FEMINIST WALLS: POEMS BY WOMEN (I’m not kidding).

The couple exchanged frowns. And then they frowned at me.

“Don’t,” they advised, as though I’d confessed I was donating my brain to science, effective immediately. “Oh god, no,” they said. “Don’t write. Just don’t.”

We blinked at each other until the waiter arrived. I mumbled, “Okey doke, then!” and fled to the resorty restroom, staring into wall-to-wall mirrors above marbled sinks, mouthing expressions of confusion, such as: WTF!

Years later, I had the wife-novelist as a workshop leader at a writers conference. I didn’t choose her workshop, it was assigned to me–for the week. The first session, she gave sound advice and offered helpful critique to those who volunteered their work. She didn’t remember me.

I ditched the conference as soon as the workshop was over, drove home to my little Los Feliz apartment and wrote my heart out until 3a.m., fingers banging keys.

I get it: Acting and writing come with rejection.

I get it: The novelist couple thought they were doing me a favor.

But I would never crush a young person’s dreams, no matter all of my rejections, or acceptances.

What I wish the couple had said: Send us your work! Keep in touch! The brain is a muscle! Follow your insticts! Experience Life! The world needs writers!

Told it to myself instead.

Still do.

Yours in pursuing dreams,

PB

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Rain=Writing Weather

Posted on March 19, 2025 by PB Rippey

March is: first consistent rains since January’s wildfire evacuation. Terrible for burn zones, desperately needed for upcoming dry seasons.

March is: positive writing news I’m not allowed to share, yet.

March is: writing schedule–9am to 1pm (also 4am or 7am, when it’s time to wake the teen for school). Insomnia is powerful.

March is: hanging up birdhouses and hoping for occupants.

March is: considering adopting a new dog since Kaia passed a year ago. Baby steps.

March is: doctors trying to figure out why my super-fit vegetarian spouse’s red blood cell count dropped. As of the last blood test, however, red count inching up. Possibly he has long covid. We don’t know. The mystery continues. Morning walks with my spouse, however, have not been interrupted during this confusing time, for which we’re both grateful.

March is: keeping my family healthy.

March is: treating every day like we’re on vacation even though we’re not.

Yours in depositing nesting materials outdoors for March-Bird-Madness,

PB

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Bath Spa University

Posted on February 18, 2025 by PB Rippey

Sept. 2025 I’ll be starting the MAWYP at Bath Spa University: Masters in Writing for Young People (Online International Program).

BTW:

Bath Spa University, Newton Park Main House

1. As you know, Bath Spa University is in Bath, UK, a city renowned for hot springs fashioned into ‘baths’ by the Romans, throughout time becoming a popular restorative destination, these days a tourist destination.

2. Read Jane Austen’s ‘Persuasion’. My favorite film version is the one with Ciaron Hinds/Amanda Root. Then the brilliant Sally Hawkins’ version and then Dakota Johnson’s–a modern take I just can’t stomp all over because Bill Nighy is charming and DJ does an engaging balancing act between frustrated/wry and quippy/lovestruck…

Anyway, Bath.

3. I spent 4 years in North Oxford when I was a kid which included multiple family tours of Bath’s stinky, murk-green pools–perfect imagination fodder. The first tour I so wanted to jump in the baths and see what happened (I’ve always been a good swimmer). My mother had to grip my hand and my father made sure I was aware of his scary-scowly-face-just-for-children until we left the area.

4. 2007: I honeymooned in Bath. We did the stinky tour I’d done as a child. I did not want to jump in the water: I was 12 weeks along. I hugged the Jane Austen mannikin instead at the historic building, still quietly teary as we wandered cobbles and obeyed my hormones bakery to bakery. I wanted to move to Bath and maybe I still do. Especially now.

5. My soul sister lives near Bath, in Bradford-on-Avon. Bradford is Bath’s charming cousin, or charming auntie: canal walks, a little loch and fairy lights twinkling in pubs and the imagination fodder part just goes on and on.

6. That honeymoon I mentioned? We were invited for supper at a home in Box, also near Bath. The house was stone, old, vaguely modernized inside. The bathroom we were shown as part of the hosts’ tour had been decorated by a previous owner who I believe was a ’70’s rockstar. Barbed wire, graffiti and fish sculptures somehow? If I looked down at the floor, I saw the 1st story below through gaps in the painted boards. Or something like that. Our hosts were hip, gracious and parents: 2 small children, 2 nannies. I devoured everything I was served. Especially dessert.

6. Bath is beautiful–even in the rain.

Grateful for online studies offered by excellent schools. Cor it’s teatime!

Cheers,

PB

A history-bit of Bath Spa U:

The Newton Park and Sion Hill campuses began as teacher training institutions in the 1940s. Newton Park’s Main House, built for Joseph Langton from 1762-1765 set in Capability Brown gardens and leased from the Prince of Wales, is Grade 1 listed.

I think Capability Brown is the name of my next goldfish.

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Evacuation Advice (IRL Edition)

Posted on January 29, 2025 by PB Rippey

I’m a 7th generation Californian, born in Pasadena. Because of my experiences with SoCal fires (all of which involved fleeing or watching others flee on TV), I can confidently advise that if you smell smoke, GET OUT. If you smell smoke and see smoke, GET OUT. Do not wait to be told to leave your home. Look at my video in my previous post. If you see that? GET OUT.

If you see this from your windows you know what to do

When you are dutifully monitoring your Watch Duty app and it tells you that you are in the evac warning zone, meaning you don’t have to evacuate right away, but your index finger wanders the Watch Duty app to the mandatory evac zone and you discover the mandatory evac zone is less than a mile from your home? What do you do? Everyone:

GET OUT.

Don’t wait. Don’t wait to be ORDERED to evacuate. Don’t wait for confirmation that you’re doing the right thing.

GET OUT.

Get out, they texted, but the cats were in their crates and already loaded in the minivan and through gritted teeth I was urging my husband and teen to please, please hurry and suddenly we were off, 2 cars, heading for the 126 through the Heritage Valley, which was like entering an apocalyptic landscape from a movie. All the smoke from the Hughes Fire went straight into the valley and headed the same direction we were, north-west-ish, for the coast.

Trust me.

Yours in staying safe,

PB

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The Hughes Fire (Evacuation Edition)

Posted on January 25, 2025 by PB Rippey
Never wait. Just go.

View from my upstairs windows. This was the beginning of the Hughes Fire and this is why we left. We were in the WARNING evac zone, but a mile up the road was the GO NOW evac zone. What would you do?

I’ll tell you.

LEAVE.

Yours in staying safe,

PB

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Return of the Winds (Santa Anas Edition)

Posted on January 21, 2025 by PB Rippey

Januray 1st: We attended the 2025 Rose Parade, front-curb seats thanks to my Pasadena cousins.

January 7: Palisades Fire and Eaton Fire and 24/7 fire watch in my ‘hood, Watch Duty the only reason we had minutes of sleep that night as 90mph gusts shook our windows. 2 sets of our family were evacuated from their homes and communities were destroyed.

January 19: Palisades and Eaton fires contained-ish, evacuations lifted-ish. My family’s homes made it, including Pasadena cousins’ home–but they can’t leave the house or they won’t be allowed back up their street. Luckily they have enough food and they have power.

January 20th: If you look at Santa Clarita on an NWS map, my city is smack in the path of incoming Santa Ana winds.

January 20th: Winds arrived 9am, earlier than predicted. Gusts aren’t the predicted 80 mph, supposedly this will happen in the middle of the night, as we sleep (of course!). As you know from my photos on Instagram, my area is high desert, high-desert-gorgeous and: dry.

January 20th: Spent the day loading the minivan with suitcases/supplies packed since 1/7 and anything else I could think of–certain framed photos, my wearable blanket the cats like to sleep on, my son’s Nintendo Switch, horse show ribbons I won when I was a teenager, the Yoda figure on my desk, favorite coffee mug, etc. Baked a Keto yellow cake for my diabetic husband. Made a 3 bean, low-salt stew, paninis for the teen, and a creative cabbage salad (toasted farro sprinkles, miso dressing). May still bake cheesy popovers.

Cooking calms me down.

I didn’t know this until today.

Yours in bluster predicted to end Tuesday 2pm, yours in hating to hate wind, yours in kitty carriers kitties can’t escape from as you’re trying to drive, yours in everything, everything good,

PB

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Los Angeles Fires

Posted on January 15, 2025 by PB Rippey
My Favorite 2025 float
Wednesday 1/7 all day on the couch, watching

The same Pasadena cousins we watched the 2025 Rose Parade with evacuated their home a week later because: Eaton fire 1/7/25. Same day, my in-laws evacuated Santa Monica as the Palisades fire raged towards their home.

I live in Valencia. We had 90mph Santa Ana wind gusts on the 7th. I thought our windows were trembling-to-shattering. I had NO IDEA the winds would be so fierce. I’m a 7th generation Californian, born in Pasadena. Apart from a couple of stints in England, I’ve lived in SoCal my whole life–but winds like on the 7th have never been part of my SoCal reality.

The first year my husband, son and rescued pets moved from the San Fernando Valley to Valencia, a fire came within a 1/4 mile of our neighborhood. Helicopters sucked water from our local pond to drop on flames up the road in Castaic. It was just after the Covid lockdown lifted. Neighbors rushed to the pond to watch the water-sucking process and say hi, masked, to those we hadn’t seen in person for a year and we were all so excited to reconnect it took a little bit to collectively realize the fire might be advancing over the hills from Castaic to our homes.

My family evacuated to a nearby mini-mall, the one with the Lowe’s, Verizon, In N Out and Panda Express and a charming view of the always super-dry/super-pretty Santa Clara River wash. You know the one. We ate, made phonecalls, soothed 2 dogs, 3 cats and 2 parakeets (our teen should be an ordained animal whisperer). I don’t remember if evacuating was mandatory? But I don’t wait for mandatory. Not after growing up with wildfires and a dad who liked to drive his children directly to the source of flames/beach water spouts/any natural disaster and one time a house fire stocked in ammo and dynamite vs. stay safe/protect loved ones.

Last Tuesday, I couldn’t invite my in-laws and cousins to evacuate to our home in Valencia because we’re just as at risk of wildfires. Today, winds are gusting 40-50mph. Suitcases, cat carriers, coats, boxes w/most important items are stacked by the front door, in case. I won’t be going anywhere farther than 5 miles from home until we get rain.

If it wasn’t for the Watch Duty app, we would never sleep.

Yours in staying safe and evacuating before ever being ordered to evacuate and yours in watching the skies and yours in hoping the winds die down 1/15 at 3pm and definitely yours in the Watch Duty app and please donate if you can, just Google, so many places and families to help,

PB

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Parades Make Me Cry

Posted on January 7, 2025 by PB Rippey

2025 Rose Parade was no exception. Seated front row on folding chairs plunked in the gutter near the corner of Allen and Colorado–the marching bands shook my internal organs, I forced myself not to ugly cry when horses passed, especially the mini horses–and then the therapy labradors. Even the motorcycle police leading the parade and yelling at people to get off the street as they did fancy tricks on their bikes and paved a clear parade route, had me crying. And don’t get me started on the Stealth swooping overhead–so creepy/fascinating sob sob sob.

I didn’t cry at parades until 2007, when I became a mom. Cried when my son was born, cried dropping him off at pre-school (not in front of him, when I was back in the minivan, pulling away), Kinder, cried at every event he participated in at his elementary school (there are legitmate reasons for ultra-black sunnies worn indoors), cried when moms and teachers who knew I cried handed me tissues at events because they knew I would forget to bring tissues even though we all knew I was going to cry. Cried during the Santa Barbara Women’s March in–2016? 2017?–my kid marching with me. Cried when Kamala Harris rallies were aired and during her spectacular bit on SNL. I can’t watch animal videos because I cry so hard my heart wants to quit me. Cried at some point during every episode of ‘Somebody Somewhere’. I cry if I glance out the window by my writing desk and see people playing in the park with their dogs. If I was still acting, I’d have no trouble crying on cue. None at all. I’d just think about my son body surfing his first wave, or my cats doing anything, or have Maggie Rogers’ song ‘Alaska’ in my ears and voila: instant waterworks.

I am working hard at not ugly crying for my country this month. Not a good time to be a walking pillar of potential tears.

Yours in the hope that Hope really is the thing with raptor feathers,

PB

I was born in Pasadena and have seen the parade many times in person–but this was the first time for my husband and our teen. A lot of waiting for the parade to reach Allen/Colorado.

PS. Don’t forget to breathe

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Christmas Books

Posted on December 30, 2024 by PB Rippey

‘Orbital’ was on the top of my Christmas list. I’m only a deer’s-trail in as I stop and re-read sentences and whole pages and savor and blink hard and hope the book won’t’ end. I’m grateful Samantha Harvey won the 2024 Booker Prize. Right. On. Pull up her acceptance speech if you haven’t already. And don’t not read ‘Orbital’.

Yours in celebrating novels and women writers winning awards,

PB.

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December Decor

Posted on December 9, 2024 by PB Rippey

My stocking is hung with extra special care.

Also, still reeling from the Mslexia longlist notification.

Yours in hope and creativity and a reminder that if your unicycle, like mine, is still hanging from your garage rafters since 2019, maybe make 1/1/25 the date to balance your butt on the seat and start pedaling.

PB

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